


A Most Solemn and Joyous Occasion

by Elektra3



Category: Aveyond
Genre: Backbiting, F/M, Gen, Unreliable Narrator, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-21 23:09:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2485625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elektra3/pseuds/Elektra3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Rhen and Dameon get married, and Lars and Elini gossip about it. Rated W for Whining.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Most Solemn and Joyous Occasion

Goddess above, this ceremony is tedious. Is the priestess being paid by the word? Of course, royal ceremonies are generally required to be arse-numbingly long, but even so (Lars shifts slightly in his seat) there is a _limit._ It doesn't help that Sister Won't-Shut-Up's voice has a reedy, breathy quality that puts him in mind of an overexcited mouse, or that her sermon is a rambling tangle of badly-used clichés – not, he'd wager, that most people have noticed. The acoustics in this hall are truly dreadful.

He glances at Elini only to find her smirking at him and scowls in reply, which she seems to find terribly funny. “Patience, northerner,” she murmurs. “This should be over before the year is out.”

“Care to wager on that?” he mutters back. The people around them are giving them irritated looks, but to hell with them. He's tired, his clothes are horribly out of fashion (have all the competent tailors on this goddess-forsaken island been _put to death?_ ) and he's been sitting on an uncomfortable bench for two hours listening to an incompetent windbag marry Rhen off to a man he would cheerfully murder.

She looks... happy.

He hadn't realized, until now, how seldom he's seen her smile – really smile, not those odd little half-smirks of hers. Not that she's had much reason to. Between being kidnapped and enslaved, and then having the fate of the world dumped blithely on her shoulders while having to wrangle their merry band of monsters and lunatics and – yes – a certain jackass who'd only joined up out of spite, it's a wonder she even managed to call up any kind of smile at all.

Still.

At least That Bloody Sun Priest looks uncomfortable. It's probably too much to hope that the man has finally realized he's a slimy, treacherous waste of space; more likely, there's a clothing seam where one shouldn't be. Lars hopes it chafes somewhere unscratchable.

Rhen, though. It's not just her smile that's strange to see – he can't remember the last time he saw her unarmed or wearing anything that wasn't strictly functional. Now she's decked out in an enormous siege engine of a dress, less a garment than a frilly battering ram; he's sort of impressed that she managed to get to the altar without knocking anything over. She's even wearing _makeup_. Her hair is piled high, pinned up with... hang on.

He nudges Elini. “Are those...”

“Stilettos? I'm surprised you didn't notice.” The annoyed looks from their neighbors are now slightly worried; she smiles sweetly. “Pretty, aren't they?”

He doesn't even bother trying to hide his snigger. “Oh, I'm sure that _pretty_ was exactly what she had in mind.” He can't see any more weapons, but knowing Rhen, they're probably there somewhere. You could conceal an entire armory under that skirt.

“Two more at her wrists, and a strangling wire in her bodice,” Elini murmurs. Their neighbors are definitely looking worried now.

(Honestly, he doesn't know what they're fussing about. Shouldn't they find it reassuring to have a queen who takes sensible precautions?)

“Those spring-loaded things she got in Sedona? I thought they jammed.”

“Just a rusted spring,” she assures him. “Dameon replaced it the other day.” Her smile widens. “Isn't it wonderful that our Rhen is marrying a man so good with his hands?”

He wonders how much beneath his dignity it would be to stick his tongue out at her. “What, don't tell me he's actually good for something.”

“Now, now, dear,” she purrs. “Green isn't really your color.”

...Screw it. He sticks out his tongue and she laughs, low and delighted, as Sister What-Is-This-Thing-You-Call-Brevity begins – can it be? – to draw her sermon to a close. There's a brief pause after she finishes speaking, and then Rhen grins and, grabbing the front of That Bloody Sun Priest's doublet, yanks him down into a kiss. The hall erupts into cheers and surprised laughter and he... needs a moment.

“Smile, northerner,” Elini says – gently, for her. “This is a happy occasion.” He glares at her, and claps until his hands hurt.

**Author's Note:**

> For the record, Lars' outfit isn't actually that terrible. He's just being an ass.


End file.
